


It doesn't

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: Autistic Technomancers, Body Dysphoria, Dissociation, Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Roy isn't feeling well at all.





	It doesn't

Tenacity is comfortable, physically. He is very warm, but that warmth is not suffocating. He smells of leather and oil and wax he uses to treat his crossrifle, and his hair is soft. He is big but not overwhelming, and he can be quiet. His scars are a distracting labyrinth of faint and not very faint lines.

Sometimes, it’s exactly what Roy needs. To lie down behind Tenacity, and Tenacity wouldn’t ask, only move just enough to give him space.

Tenacity has a personal vendetta against any kinds of shirts, so in bed he doesn’t wear any. And it’s so natural to stroke Tenacity’s arm.

‘Roy.’

He kisses the scar on Tenacity’s left shoulder where a nail grazed him years ago. ‘You want anything?’

‘I want you.’

Tenacity rolls onto his back, and Roy keeps himself propped on an elbow over him as…

As the power goes out, leaving them in darkness. He shakes his head, a knot tightening in his gut. It’s like a blanket being yanked off of him. He blinks, trying to stop seeing currents, trying to…

‘Roy.’

Tenacity’s lips are soft and warm, and there is the taste of…

‘Should I stop touching you?’

‘No. No, don’t.’

Tenacity’s kisses are slow and thorough, and he runs his fingers over the back of Roy’s head…

He pulls away.

The power still hasn’t returned, and darkness is wrapped about him in a myriad of things prickling his skin—or maybe it’s prickling from the inside, and there are sparks on the back of his eyelids, more powerful when he closes his eyes tighter, and presses the heels of his palms into them, and his body is raw, wrong, _disgusting_ , his mind, his field just to the right of it, how can his heart beat when the _feeling_ of it beating is two centimetres to the left of the damned muscle, how can it be…

‘Roy.’

He slides his palms up, holds his head, tries to hold himself together.

‘May I touch you?’

‘Please.’

He hates how it sounds, he hates the sound of his own voice, hates being weak, _appearing_ weak, he hates, hates, _hates_ …

Tenacity’s hand touches his back, and his whole body recoils.

It won’t _stop_.

‘I _want_ you to touch me—but without touching me.’ He grinds his teeth, digs his nails into the skin of his head, _please_ let it stop, make it stop…

Tenacity wraps a blanket over him tightly, then wraps him in his arms, too, and that… That’s good. It doesn’t make the prickling any better, but it doesn’t make it _worse_. It cuts off many other things, lets him focus on the pressure, instead of himself, instead of everything else, on Tenacity’s presence.

‘Roy, it’s all right.’

‘It’s not.’

‘You are all right.’

‘I’m not.’

‘What do you need?’

‘I don’t know. _Fuck_.’

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

He tears out of Tenacity’s embrace, the coldness and texture of the floor and sounds and _everything_ hitting him again, he can hear Tenacity’s breathing, his heartbeat, taste the electric generators and touch and light and darkness, and the—

The lights come back on in a blaze of taste-sound-texture, metallic salt, thin needles, whine-buzz, fuck, fuck, fuck…

He runs out.

The walls, sounds, scents, metal, metal _metal_ press on him from all sides, the currents, the blaze, lights, the distant sun, lives, laughter, every _thing_ , he sweeps the mugs off the table, and they clatter, clatter clatter, good good, maybe he should step on them, or, or there is water in the kettle, warm it up until it rustles whispers murmurs like wind in the dunes, like…

He grips the rails, so cold, clings to the sensation, wanting to scream at all the notches scratches the _grain of metal_ , and the rails warm up so quickly, so quickly

Make it stop

make it stop

it never stops


End file.
